


Bad Parts

by Clocketpatch



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: s07e13 Nightmare in Silver, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternative ending to Nightmare in Silver. The Cyber-parts don't just drop off at the end, and Mr. Clever isn't giving up so easily...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your boyfriend is creeping me out a bit

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a meme fill. This one got a bit away from me. I was expecting it to be over in a few quick paragraphs, instead it ended up taking over 10,000 words. There are brief allusions to what Eleven may or may not have got up to during his "dark times" in Victorian London which may be triggering to some readers.  
> 

 

  
Clara entered the chamber in time to see the Doctor press the hand-pulsar against his face. It sparked. The Doctor's head jerked back, the hand-pulsar still pressed firmly against his cheek.

"That's cheating," he grated out in the horrible, gravely voice of Mr. Clever.

The Doctor's teeth clenched. Blue lightning ran over his face and down his chest and arm. His entire body went into a spasm. He let loose a long, terrifying howl that Clara barely recognized as the word, "No."

She didn't know who was voicing their defiance, Doctor or Cyber-Planner.

"Doctor!" Clara shouted, running towards him. She didn't know what to do; only that she had to act.

The device against his cheek sizzled and a familiar smell filled the room. Clara's stomach turned as she simultaneously identified why it was familiar — all of those summer barbecues with Angie and Artie, all of those holiday trips with her parents when she'd roasted hot dogs on sticks — and saw the smoke rising from the hand-pulsar and knew that her scent memory of those happy days was ruined forever. The Doctor convulsed one last time before collapsing face down on the chessboard.

The black king fell over at the impact and toppled off the board onto the floor.

*

"Doctor?" Clara asked, cautiously shaking his shoulder.

The kids, the punishment platoon, and Porridge milled uncomfortably in the background. Outside, the metallic marching of the Cyberian army was getting louder. It had been only a handful full of minutes since Clara entered the chamber. The Doctor — or whoever he was now — had been unconscious for less than three. But time was a precious commodity, rapidly slipping away. The soldiers had blocked the chamber entrance, but their barricade was a paltry thing compared with the strength of three million Cybermen.

The first loud bang came against the solid timbered door and everyone in the chamber flinched.

"We don't have much longer," Porridge said. "Another few minutes and they'll be through, and then…"

"I don't want to die," Angie said. "Dying is rubbish! I'm only thirteen!"

"We all die some time. Besides, dying would be a favour compared to what they'll turn you into."

"Doctor!" Clara said, shaking him more urgently. "Please wake up and please be you."

Another bang rattled the door, and finally the Doctor stirred.

"Just taking advantage of the local resources," he murmured.

Clara backed away from him.

"He's still possessed!" said one of the soldiers, the redheaded teenager with the glasses.

"I am not," the Doctor said indignantly, but when he lifted his head from the table the Cyber-parts were still there. Worse, they were burned into his face with the metal melted and fused into weird, dripping shapes, and the skin around them red and inflamed. He looked like the monster out of a horror film.

"The Cyber-Planner is gone," the Doctor said confidently, "Out of my head and distributed across three million Cybermen right now and from the sound of those knocks at the door he's already woken them up. Next step is to kill us and then start constructing spaceships, and can someone please untie me before that happens because I have no desire to be 'upgraded' twice in one day. Very unpleasant prospect. Clara!"

"Yes Doctor?"

"Why are you standing over there?"

Clara observed him. The voice was right, the demeanour was right, but she'd been fooled already and now the stakes were higher. Granted, they'd probably all die whatever happened next, but she still had to know it was him.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

"No. You're much too short and bossy and your nose is all funny."

He didn't look at her expectantly or try to convince her of his identity. He said the insults flippantly. He was cruel, intentionally or not; he didn't notice who he hurt. As far as knights in shining armour went, he was more than a bit rubbish, but she'd take insults over Mr. Clever's creepy come-ons any day.

"Good enough for me," Clara said, untying him.

The Doctor smiled and twiddled his bow tie, then bounced out of the chair and started waving his sonic at the detonator. Everyone in the room, (Clara included, if she was honest with herself) was still more than slightly nervous of him as he fired out questions about the secondary voice activation.

Then Angie showed her true intelligence and saved them all. Clara had never been so proud.

*

"Your boyfriend is creeping me out a bit with his face like that," Angie confided to Clara on their way home. "How do you know for sure that he's _him_ and he's not just waiting for his moment to zap us?"

Clara sat with the kids watching as the Doctor bustled around the console flipping switches and levers. The Cyber-parts burned into his face were difficult to ignore, and while she was almost, completely, 98% certain that he was the Doctor again, that niggling 2% wouldn't leave her alone.

"I don't think that he'd have blown up the planet if he still had the Cyber-Planner in his head," Clara said, trying to sound like the confident adult that she knew Angie wanted to hear, whether she'd admit it or not. "It's not very logical."

"But it could be a strategy, like, to get into your boyfriend's timeship, 'cause it knew it would lose the chess game. Maybe it's just pretending to be gone, maybe he even thinks it's gone, but any second now it's going to come back and…"

"Stop it Angie, you're scaring Artie."

"Sor-ry," she said, including a classic Angie eye-roll.

"We've arrived," said the Doctor. The TARDIS chimed the door opened. The Doctor held out his arm to indicate the way out. "London, Earth, 2013, the Maitland family household same as you left it. But before you go, a present for you Angie. New phone!"

"Thanks," Angie said, taking the phone while awkwardly trying to make it appear like she wasn't avoiding looking at the Doctor's face. "Sorry I said this box was stupid."

Angie and Artie ran out the door and back in their normal lives as fast as politeness would allow them. The Doctor turned to look at Clara. Would she stay, or would she run away from him as well? She edged towards the door.

"Clara…" he said.

"Next Wednesday then?" Clara said, trying to stay chipper and cheerful, and, exactly like Angie, trying to avoid looking at the Doctor's face.

"No," said the Doctor. He flipped a switch on the console and the doors shut, and normalcy and home and Angie and Artie were shut away behind them. Unreachable. The air seemed to get colder.

"This isn't part of the deal," Clara said. "You don't get to kidnap me in your snog box. One date a week, we agreed. Now let me out."

The Doctor stepped away from the console. He seemed… slumped, diminished. The lights on his half-melted implant flickered weakly. His eyes closed and he looked like he was in so much pain, so exhausted.

"The control for the door is there," he said, waving weakly at the switch. "You can press it. I won't stop you. You can leave. I won't stop you. But. Clara. I —" He paused. His eyes opened, grey and hurting. He lightly touched the ruin of metal and burnt skin of the left side of his face. "I don't think I can fix this on my own."


	2. Your boyfriend is creeping me out a bit

He'd been acting like it was fine. The Emperor had proposed to her and cracked jokes about having them all executed, and the Doctor had acted like he was fine. They'd jumped into the TARDIS and he'd flown them home _and he'd acted fine_. His face was wrecked and the smell of burnt meat clung to his clothes, but he bounced and twirled his bow tie like nothing was wrong.  
  
And, she'd played along and looked away, because he was alien and maybe he _was_ fine. Maybe he would come next Wednesday and the Cyber-parts would be gone, never to be spoken of again. Or maybe they would stay, but she would get used to them in time (Clara knew she would never get used to that face, but maybe with the smell gone it would be bearable. The burns would fade with time, and, and…)  
  
She knew that she'd been deluding herself. Still, even knowing him a short time, she knew that it was unlike the Doctor to ask for help. It made her nervous.  
  
"It's a new thing I'm trying," he told her. "Besides, Rory would chew my head off if he…" he stopped in mid-sentence, "but he isn't here. No Rory, no Hex, no Martha, no Harry, no Grace — I'm hard on health care workers, can't ever seem to keep them around."  
  
"Gee, I wonder why?" Clara asked.  
  
The Doctor snorted, before continuing his rambling monologue. Clara listened with half an ear, annoyed at the Doctor for slamming the door and scaring her out of her wits, but relived that some aspects of his behaviour were still more or less normal.  
  
"I have friends on Earth, Torchwood and UNIT, who could help, but this is Cyber-technology and I don't know if my friends could pull enough strings to keep that under wraps. There were protocols for dealing with the Cybermen even in your time."  
  
"Wait," Clara said, "there were Cybermen in _my_ time. I thought they were an awful dystopian future monster that I didn't have to worry about at home."  
  
"No, they've been rattling around your planet since the early sixties."  
  
"Great," said Clara, "Do you have any other fun bits of trivia to keep me awake at night?"  
  
"...though occasionally a time storm will fling a few further off. Found some in Victorian London one time — not entirely sure if it actually happened — time streams got a bit confused afterwards… Hello! There's an idea!"  
  
"What is? Doctor, you aren't making sense."  
  
"When do I ever make sense?"  
  
"Point taken."  
  
The Doctor grinned and turned to the console. "Vastra and Jenny, and Strax too, I suppose. He is technically speaking, a nurse. Victorian London here we come!"  
  
Clara grabbed onto the railing as the TARDIS took flight, trying to catalogue her feelings and decide whether or not this counted as an alien abduction. He had given her some time to dart for the doors, and she hadn't protested against going to see Vastra and Jenny, but she hadn't agreed either. He hadn't asked her opinion at all, and now he was grinning maniacally as he danced around thumping in coordinates and yanking on the zig-zag plotter.  
  
Once the TARDIS was safely in flight, he ran to the side of the console run and pulled open a hidden compartment in the wall. There were boxes and chests stacked inside and the Doctor started fishing around in them. His back was to Clara. Without his face to distract, he looked normal. Then he turned around.  
  
He was holding a pair of handcuffs.  
  
"Present from my good friend Doctor Song, always knew they'd come in handy."  
  
"And what do you want done with those?" Clara asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"They're handcuffs," the Doctor said, "You use them for… cuffing hands. Behind the back, preferably, otherwise I might accidentally strangle you. Come on, Clara, a bit of help, these things aren't as do-it-yourself friendly as you'd think."  
  
Clara crept forward. "Accidentally strangle me?"  
  
"Quickly!" the Doctor said, sounding a bit strangled himself.  
  
"Angie was right, wasn't she?" Clara said. "It's not gone, is it?"  
  
"No, it isn't," the Doctor said. "It did leave, briefly, but once Mr. Clever realized that there was no way to counteract the detonator, he beamed himself back to homebase. He needs a living host to survive. Luckily the hardware was a bit damaged. He's been having trouble re-acclimatizing, and the TARDIS has been helping, but he won't ever stop Clara. Not until the parts are out, and he knows that I can't fight much longer. So please, Clara, handcuffs, quick as you like."   
  
He tossed the cuffs at Clara, and then turned around, putting his hands together and wiggling his fingers.  
  
She snapped the cuffs on without a second thought.  
  
"Bit tight," the Doctor said, turning around. "That's good. I'm less likely to wiggle out if they're tight. One more thing, Clara. My inner, right jacket pocket."  
  
Clara moved her hands over the fabric, aware of how close she was to the Doctor, of the way his eyes followed her.  
  
"What am I looking for?"  
  
"A small foil package," the Doctor said.  
  
Clara found it and pulled it out.  
  
"Unwrap it, and put the contents in my mouth."  
  
Clara did. There was a large, pink pill inside. The Doctor opened his mouth, and Clara quickly popped it inside, trying to ignore the way he smacked his lips after.  
  
"What was that?" she asked.  
  
"Lozenge," the Doctor said, clicking it against his teeth, "One thing about Cybermen. They have utterly lost the art of speaking without mechanical synthesizers. Mr. Clever indeed. The way he was abusing my vocal cords, I shouldn't wonder if my throat isn't sore for a month." He opened his mouth and flipped the candy around on his tongue, giving an audible sigh of contentment. "Raspberry, that's just the thing. Right then, out the door. It's time for a house call."  
  
*  
  
Outside stood London, but it wasn't Clara's home city. Thick, yellowish fog swirled over battered cobblestones. Gas street lamps gave off small pools of light, cutting the street into a mosaic of seen and unseen. Manure, smoke, sulphur, boiled cabbage — the air was thick with the smells of another time.  
  
The Doctor hesitated a moment on the threshold between the TARDIS and the street. He'd been playing it cool, but now his face was twitching incessantly. Clara stood beside him and put a guiding hand on his right arm.  
  
"Clara, when I step outside, the TARDIS's protection will end and the Cyber-Planner will take control. I've been negotiating with him and, good news! I've managed to keep the legs. In return he gets the lips and the arms." The Doctor smiled, like he'd said something funny. "He calls himself Mr. Clever. He hasn't even figured out I'm tied up yet. Ha!"  
  
"And what do you think will happen when he does figure that out?"  
  
The Doctor made an expression which clearly said that he hadn't considered that possibility, and now that he had been forced to consider it he didn't want to. He shook his head vigorously, as if to drive the thought away.   
  
"Right-o then, no time like the present. Clara, my legs will guide the way, but when we reach our destination I will require your assistance for the door knocking, and the explaining of what's going on, and probably for the slapping as well. That should still work. But in moderation, please. I'd like to have some skin left on my face by the time this is all over."  
  
"Baby," Clara said, trying desperately to inject a bit of levity into the situation, "my slaps aren't that bad."  
  
The Doctor didn't reply. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine, visibly tensing, like a man about to go before a firing squad. Then he stepped over the threshold and into the street.  
  
He took a few steps before stopping, half in and half out of the glow of a street lamp. The yellow fog swirled around his feet. He looked dark and mysterious and broken standing there. He turned to look back at Clara and the TARDIS. The shadows obscured the ruined half of his face. He looked almost normal, but when he spoke, it was with the gravely, mocking voice of the Cyber-planner:  
  
"Compared to the pain he has felt in his life, your slaps are little more than flea bites. Irritating, but easily put aside. The real reason he wants you to use moderation is because I have already begun formulating an upgrade to counteract the shock response he uses to override me. Soon, he will be fully in my control."  
  
Clara worked to compose herself. "That may be, but we've still got some tricks up our sleeves, so don't be getting too comfortable in his head."  
  
She stepped outside to join the Doctor. The TARDIS doors slammed shut behind her.  
  
"Typical," she muttered.  
  
"The Doctor's ship doesn't like you," Mr. Clever said. "Do you ever wonder why? _He_ wonders. But then, it could be nothing more than a reflection. He doesn't trust you. The ship takes his lead. It's all here, in his head."  
  
Clara pressed her lips together, refusing to get into an argument. The Doctor's legs were moving now, leading them on a rambling wander through Victorian London's dark and twisting streets. Shapes and sounds were distorted by the fog; a dog's bark, a horse's hooves on the cobblestones, a beggar crying out for change. Clara hoped that the Doctor knew where he was going.  
  
"Did you know that he looks at you, out of the corner of his eye, and he wonders —"  
  
"I wonder why I didn't think of gagging you, before I agreed to this," Clara said.  
  
"— he wonders about the smell of your hair and the feel of your skin, and he — Ow! Clara! I told you not to do that unless you absolutely had to!"  
  
He rubbed the right side of his face against his shoulder. It was already going red.  
  
"It was an emergency," said Clara. She looked around. They were near the river now. The smell of dark waters, and the sound of it slapping rhythmically against its banks dominated the atmosphere. The buildings here were tall and narrow. Brooding. "How much further?"  
  
"Not far at all," said the Doctor. He stepped up to the ornate front door of one of the houses. A small plaque beside the door declared it to be the abode of Madame Vastra, the Great Detective. "In fact, we're already there. Now, Clara, if you could help with the knocking…"  
  
*  
  
Jenny opened the door. She wore her maid outfit and she looked from Clara to the Doctor, politely not mentioning the state of the Doctor's face.  
  
"Doctor! And, Clara! We weren't expecting you. Tea is done, but I'm sure I could rummage up some biscuits. Vastra and Strax will be happy to see you both…" her patter trailed off into uncertainty as the Doctor failed to interrupt. "I take it this isn't a social call?"  
  
The Doctor smiled. Not a nice smile.  
  
"Jenny. Jenny, Jenny, Jenny. Do you ever wonder why he saved you that day? It wasn't altruism, or heroism, or his belief in the power of love breaking down barriers between species and gender. It was because he wanted to get inside your skirt. He thought that maybe you would have the gratitude one day to — Ow! Jenny!"  
  
The Doctor grimaced up at the maid and Clara. The force of the slap had upset his balance and without his arms to steady himself he'd gone down hard onto the cobblestones.  
  
"Sorry Doctor," said Clara, "but I think that was a second emergency." She reached down to help him to his feet. "Are you yourself again?"  
  
"For the time being," the Doctor said. He looked at Jenny. "I apologize. I seem to have gained a techno-neural parasite who takes great pleasure in playing mind games."   
  
His head jerked to the side and his voice went raspy: "Perhaps, but I am in your head, Doctor, I know you and your motives better than anyone in the universe, and in my benevolence, _I'm sharing_."  
  
Clara started to let go of the Doctor's arm, but then his head jolted again, his neck craning so far backwards for a moment that she thought it might snap. Then he was breathing heavily. His eyes screwed shut. "Out of my head. Out of my head."  
  
"Apology accepted," Jenny said. "Will you need help getting him inside?"  
  
"Yes, please," said Clara.  
  
The Doctor was significantly taller than her and Jenny, but working together they managed to get him past the threshold and into the house. Clara slammed the door as soon as he was fully in, worried that he might lose control of the legs and bolt. She had the thought that she should probably be more worried about locking herself inside with the _thing_ trying to take over the Doctor's mind, but she brushed that worry away as irrelevant. What'd her Mum always said? — _"don't worry about the cake burning when the oven's on fire"_   
  
The oven was, most definitely, on fire. The Doctor's whole body was convulsing and it was all Jenny and Clara could do to keep him upright as control swung back and forth between him and the Cyber-Planner.  
  
"Vastra! Strax!" Jenny called.  
  
Strax arrived first, bounding through a door (literally) with a gun raised, cheerfully asking, "Is it an enemy you need to slaughter?" before noticing the state of the Doctor and quickly exchanging his weapon for a diagnostics pad.  
  
Madame Vastra came a few seconds later, stepping through the wreckage of the door. She looked ready to start giving Strax a lecture when she saw the Doctor. "Goddess."  
  
"He's possessed, Marm," Jenny said.  
  
"I can see that," said Vastra. She leaned closer, inspecting the hissing, writhing Doctor. "That's Cyberman technology!" she exclaimed. "He's being converted!"  
  
"Is there anything we can do for him?" Jenny asked.  
  
"Strax?" Vastra asked.  
  
The Sontaran warrior-nurse intently studied the diagnostics pad. "The damage is extensive, but I believe that, in my capable hands, he will make a full recovery. Firstly, the implants need to be removed."  
  
Strax moved forward and confidently got a grip on the metal implant burned into the Doctor's face. He started pulling. The Doctor started screaming.  
  
"You're hurting him!" Clara said.  
  
"Nonsense," said Strax, continuing to pull, grunting with the effort. "According to the pad there is only a superficial connection. It should tear off easily with the correct application of strength."  
  
"Strax!" said Vastra sharply, as the Doctor's cries became more poignant. "Are you certain that you are using the correct settings?"  
  
"Do you doubt my abilities?"  
  
"Check, Strax!"  
  
Strax desisted in his pulling attempts and looked at the pad. He did not look sheepish or embarrassed — it was probably impossible for a Sontaran to look either — but he did look more or less contrite.  
  
"Ah. It would seem that the diagnostics pad has reverted to its default, Sontar settings, possibly as a result of the incident with the spilled tea and the Zygon in the parlour last month." Strax flipped the pad over a few times, pressing buttons with his blunt fingers until the device gave a satisfying click. He re-scanned the Doctor and then stood reading the results.  
  
"What is it, Strax?" asked Jenny.  
  
It was, apparently, as difficult for a Sontaran to look concerned or disturbed as it was for one to look embarrassed, but Clara thought that the confidence in Strax's voice was strained as he replied:  
  
"The connection is slightly more than superficial. However, you can be assured that my skills and medical training will be sufficient to restore the Doctor to fighting condition so that he may valiantly die in battle at a later date."  
  
Strax's pronouncement was met with a harsh, grating sound. The Cyber-Planner was laughing.  
  
"These are the people you entrust with your life, Time Lord? You really think that this collection of imbeciles and rejects will be able to save you?"  
  
"I do," the Doctor said. His breathing was thready. Perspiration beaded across his forehead. "I believe in them."  
  
"And why is that? You know how weak they are. You know how many Strax and Vastra have slaughtered in cold blood, and how easily they would turn again without the fear of you to keep them in line. You know what Jenny did that night. You know that Clara is going to die."  
  
The words hit her like a wave of icy water engulfing her heart. She'd heard him say that he'd seen her die before, but Clara couldn't remember where or when. She knew that the Cyber-Planner wasn't lying, but she couldn't remember why. She didn't want to die.  
  
"How can you possibly believe in these people when you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they. will. fail."  
  
Everyone in the entrance hall was silent. Mr. Clever's attack had contained enough truth to prevent anyone from attempting to argue back. Jenny looked on the verge of tears. She turned to Vastra for comfort, but they both seemed uncertain of each other.  
  
"Because of a word that your logic doesn't understand," said the Doctor.  
  
"And what word is that?" asked the Cyber-Planner.  
  
"Hope."  
  
Jenny stabbed the Doctor in the neck with the hypodermic syringe Vastra had handed her before the Cyber-Planner could cut in with a response, sending the Doctor keeling off into blissful unconsciousness. Or maybe not so blissful. Clara wondered if the war would be put on hold while the Doctor was out, or if it would continue in his head, unseen but just as vicious.  
  
"What did you do?" Clara asked.  
  
Jenny looked slightly guilty.  
  
"It is a sedative we developed for him during the dark times," Vastra said. "It will keep him quiet long enough for us to properly restrain him in the surgery. Come, Clara you must tell me all you know about how the Doctor acquired his current… ailment. Strax, prepare the patient."  
  
"Yes, Madame Vastra," Strax said, saluting. He scooped up the unconscious Doctor onto his shoulders and followed everyone else towards the surgery.


	3. My prime directive is to survive

  
The fact that the surgery, with its wooden examination table and Schelle's Green wallpaper, obviously stood extra duty as an ad-hoc laboratory, a place for conducting autopsies, and a quiet room for playing cards, did not fill Clara with a huge amount of confidence.

Jenny somewhat embarrassedly swept a cup of cold tea and the remains of a game of whist off the examination table, clearing a space for Strax to plonk the Doctor down. The look exchanged between Vastra and her servants said, _"we will discuss this later"_. Clara was annoyed by it. She was annoyed by all of it. These were the Doctor's friends and they were likely the best help he was going to find but they were so, so…

What had Mr. Clever said? Rejects and imbeciles. No, that was wrong. That wasn't the problem. They were so…

 _Human_.

It surprised Clara to come to that realization, even as she watched Vastra and Strax and Jenny fuss over removing the Doctor's handcuffs (Jenny had a lock pick out before Clara could even think to offer her the key). Handcuffs taken care of, Jenny started tying down the Doctor's arms and legs with thick lengths of rope, thoughtfully padding his wrists and ankles with bits of cloth before drawing the knots tight. Strax pulled various tools out of the wooden cabinets built along one wall. Vastra had taken over use of the diagnostics pad (confiscated, more like) and was monitoring the Doctor's readings.

They were an efficient team. More than that; they were a family. It hurt to watch them a bit, it reminded Clara too much of the effortless routines she'd had with her Mum and Dad as a kid, but as the Doctor had said, _hope_. If these three misfits could find a place to belong (and in the oh-so-inclusive Victorian era no less), then couldn't anyone?

Clara's philosophical musings were cut short as the Doctor started going into fits.

"Marm! What's happening?" Jenny shouted, struggling to complete the last tie on the Doctor's left hand.

Vastra stared intently at the diagnostics pad, worry etched across her reptilian features. "The Cyber-Planner is taking advantage of the sedative. It's up-grading. Strax, wake him up!"

Strax snatched the diagnostics pad away from Vastra.

"Incompetent reptile! His life signs are depressed, administering a stimulate would precipitate disastrous results."

Clara heard their bickering as a background buzz. She was more concentrated on the Doctor's chest. The thin fabric of his shirt was shifting, like something was moving underneath. Jenny noticed too.

"I think this is bad," Jenny said.

"You think?" said Clara.

Vastra surrendered the diagnostics pad to Strax, leaning forward to rip open the Doctor's shirt. Buttons popped and scattered. The Doctor was, Clara couldn't help noticing, very well built. She hadn't really thought about what kind of body he kept under his layers of anachronistic clothes and nerdy bow ties, but washboard abs were completely unexpected. Clara didn't have much time to consider them; her attention was far more focused on the silvery colonizing tendrils of Cyber-tech.

The metal branched and grew, circling across the left side of the Doctor's torso. Small lights budded at the junctions and began to flash.

"Strax, wake him up _now_ ," Vastra commanded.

Strax responded by unstopping a vial of what appeared to be smelling salts under the Doctor's nose. The Doctor took a lungful and started wheezing, but the convulsions stopped. More importantly, the metal stopped. A few minutes later, his breathing normalized.

"That was a very dangerous medical manoeuvre," Strax said. "I hope you all appreciate the skill involved in safely breaking a Time Lord healing trance."

"We all appreciate your skills," said Vastra, soothingly.

"He's coming round," said Jenny.

All four of the Doctor's friends leaned forward, breathless, wondering _who_ exactly was coming round. The Doctor's eyes opened. They were clear and confused.

"Doctor?" Clara asked.

His mouth opened like he was about to say something. The first, dazed syllable escaped,

"Clar—"

Seeing the Cyberplaner take control was like watching a door slam shut. The Doctor's expression hardened. The confusion and eagerness melted away. His eyes became two chunks of hard grey flint. Logical. Emotionless. Almost dead.

"Did you miss me?" Mr. Clever asked.

"Not particularly," said Clara.

"Ooo, feisty," said the Cyber-Planner, "he likes that, or he would like that, if he were around to hear it. I have to thank you all for that wonderful sedative, what was it? Mother Bailey's Quieting Syrup and diluted Silurian venom with a few herbs thrown in and administered intravenously? It's a wonder you didn't turn him into an addict."

The Cyber-Planner looked around the room, smiling.

"Or maybe you did. It's all here inside his head, all of the depravities he indulged in, in order to forget. Shall I tell Mistress Clara what the Doctor was trying to outrun with his self-harm and chemical dabbling? Shall I tell her —"

Madame Vastra was the one to slap the Doctor this time. A hard, measured slap. The clear-eyed gaze of the Doctor seemed to break through for a fraction of a second before being supplanted. The Cyber-Planner chuckled.

"No, I don't think so. I've had a chance to explore the neural networks now. The Doctor is well and firmly under my control. You won't be getting him back."

"We will cut you out," Vastra said, "and crush your circuits to dust before feeding them to the fire."

"Dramatic words," said the Cyber-Planner, "but I doubt it. You are weak, emotion-ridden creatures. You do not want to see your friend in pain. I will ensure that he is in pain if you attempt to remove me, and I will ensure that you will see it and know that you are the cause."

"The Cyber race was developed to eradicate pain," said Vastra, "to cause needless suffering would go against your prime directives."

"No," said the Cyber-Planner, "My prime directive is to survive, and to ensure the survival of all of the poor, mortal creatures throughout the universe that have yet to be up-graded into the purity of the Cyberian empire. Pain is a useful tool. Pain alerts the body to threats to survival. The removal of pain is illogical. Needless suffering will be eliminated, but this suffering _is needful_."

Rant finished, the Cyber-Planner relaxed into his bounds, smiling, waiting.

"I am not put off by your prattling," Strax said. "I am a nurse. I understand when a patient is being evasive."

The Sontaran picked up a scalpel and approached. The Cyber-Planner slowly, deliberately, closed his eyes. When they opened again, the Doctor was looking out.

"Clara, Vastra, Jenny, Strax — am I tied to a table? Never mind, that's self-explanatory."

"Is it you?" Clara asked.

"Of course it's me. At least, I hope it's me. I'm a bit… squished… at the moment. Pressed to the sides. I…" the Doctor rocked his head back and forth against the hard wood of the table. "You're going to ask how I am, even though there's really no time for that and the answer is as obvious as being tied to a table; quite horrible, thank you. I was in a cage, in my mind, he had me in a cage, and then he let me out and I don't know where he…" the Doctor halted his mad ramble, his eyes widening with alarm.

"Oh. There you are," he whispered.

"Vital signs are becoming erratic," Strax pronounced, looking at the diagnostics pad.

"I expect they are," the Doctor said, taking an irregularly deep breath, "he has control over almost everything, and he wants to teach me and you a lesson. He wants… He… I think… I think I'm going to start yelling now. If you could ignore it and get to work, I'd really, really, really like to be alone inside my own head again. Thank you."

The Doctor closed his eyes, pressed his head back against the table, and began to whimper. It took only a few minutes for the whimpers to graduate into moans, and then, as the Doctor had promised, keening, throat-wrenching screams.

"What do we do?" Clara asked. She wanted to cover her ears and turn away, but she was transfixed by the Doctor's suffering.

"We continue," Vastra said, nodding to Strax and his at-the-ready scalpel. "What else can we do? Jenny, take Clara into the parlour. Give her tea with brandy."

"I'm not leaving him," Clara said.

"No, you are supporting him in a different way," Vastra said. "Think. Strax and I are more than capable of removing the Cyber-parts on our own. Your presence will only provide a distraction now and source of guilt for the Doctor later."

"How could he feel guilty for this?" Clara asked, staring at the pitiful figure of the Doctor strapped to the table; face burnt, shirt open, screaming in agony.

"The Doctor is a damaged man, Clara," Vastra said. "You must know this by now. If you do not, then you will never know him at all. He feels guilty when his friends suffer. He feels equally guilty when his friends must watch him suffer. Whatever he does, whichever way he turns, a burden is added to his conscience."

"That's rubbish," said Clara.

"Perhaps," said Vastra, "but you will still go to the parlour with Jenny." 

  



	4. He nearly stopped being the Doctor. But he didn't.

  
Clara sat in the parlour nursing her tea with brandy (truthfully, it was a brandy with tea) and trying to ignore the screams coming from down the hall. The Victorian settee she was perched on was horridly uncomfortable, though the hard-backed wooden chair Jenny had chosen looked even worse.

"This is awful," Clara said, setting the cup and saucer down on an ornate end table.

"You're right," Jenny said, putting aside her own drink, "it's far better with whiskey."

Clara smiled despite herself, only to have the half-second of humour shattered by another unearthly wail from the surgery. The sound of the Doctor's pain seemed to nestle along her bones, to crouch in her stomach, to wind up her nerves until she wanted to scream herself. Jenny seemed to understand, leaning forward to put a comforting hand on Clara's knee.

"He is in the best of hands," Jenny said.

Clara shook her head, not wanting to think about it. She searched for a distraction.

"Jenny, what Strax was talking about, the Zygons and the tea… what is a Zygon anyway?"

"The Zygons are a race of shape-shifting aliens with no homeworld. We had a duplicate come in about a case. He was a very nice young Zygot, aside from the body-snatching. Didn't get along with Strax at first. Now they meet up once a month or so to plot the destruction of Earth and set off explosives somewhere up around Dartmoor. I don't ask too many questions. You know how boys are, not that Strax is a boy, but, you know…"

The noises from the surgery switched from hoarse screams to a series of breathless cries, like an animal in a trap. Clara grabbed her 'tea' off the end table and gulped it.

"Boys will be boys," Clara said, trying to sound cheerful, but knowing that her voice was probably shaking as badly as her hands. It was a wonder that she got the empty tea cup back onto the end table without shattering it.

Clara massaged her temples. Her thumb brushed against her cheek and came away wet.

"You must think that I'm really stupid," Clara said to Jenny, "breaking down and crying over the least little thing, not knowing what a Zygon is, not knowing why I'm here…"

"None of us know why we're here," said Jenny.

"I suppose not," said Clara, sniffing. "I used to know. I think. I had a leaf, but I gave it up to the old god because it was eating the Doctor's memories, and that was when we first met, not when we first, first met, but not long after, and he'd been odd since the beginning — _really odd_ , he showed up at my door dressed like a monk — but after what happened I thought that if he was missing memories — because he says he has no keepsakes, no past, but then I find rooms full of keepsakes on his ship."

"He says he has a granddaughter," Clara continued, realizing she was rambling, but unable to stop the words, "but then he never mentions her again. Now he has Mr. Clever rooting around in his brain saying all of these terrible things and I don't know if they're true or not, because I've been letting this alien abduct me into space every Wednesday for the past two months and I don't know a single thing about him."

"You know he's good," Jenny said.

"I don't know his name."

"His name doesn't matter," said Jenny. "He's the Doctor. He helps. That is who he is."

"What happened to him," Clara asked. Down the hall, the animal-in-a-trap noises dissolved into strangled whimpers. Clara didn't know if that was a sign that the Doctor was improving, or if his throat had just become too raw to keep screaming. She'd thought that quieter would be better, easier to ignore, but it was worse. The not knowing was worse.

"What happened to make him so sad?" Clara pressed. "He's my friend, I think. I want to know how to help him…"

"Knowing won't let you help him," said Jenny.

"Tell me," said Clara.

"Vastra and Strax and I don't know his whole story," said Jenny, "I don't think there is anyone alive who knows it. He is a Time Lord, and Vastra told me that all of the Time Lords are dead. Like her, the Doctor is the last of his race, and like her… no. I'm sorry. I can't tell you that. It is her secret."

Jenny got out of her uncomfortable looking chair and paced to the window. The curtains were thick velvet. Between the cloying yellow fog outside, and the old fashioned, rivulet-marked glass of the windowpanes, it didn't seem likely that Jenny could see much. Clara thought that she was just standing there for an excuse; to avoid looking her in the eye as she spoke.

"When Vastra and I met the Doctor the first time," Jenny said, "he saved our lives. He did not judge us for who were. I'd never known that there were people in the world who could do that; who could look at a person and not pass a single scrap of judgment. But the Doctor could. He did. And he saved us without asking for a single thank you in return."

"But then, the second time the Doctor called, he was a different man. He looked different. He was different. He asked us to repay our debts and follow him into battle. The first Doctor we met would never have asked for anything in return. This man asked for everything, but he did it for a friend. So we followed him."

"The third time we met the Doctor…"

Jenny trailed off. She wandered away from the window to jab the fireplace with an iron poker, sending small clouds of sparks flinging against the grate. The log slowly collapsed under the weight of the flames, turning into a pile of grey ash.

"He lost that friend," Jenny said. "He's old, and he has lost many people, but he lost too much, too quickly I think. He went a bit mad for a time. We couldn't judge him. He didn't judge us. And who's to say what any of us would do? If I lost Vastra that way… or even Strax. He tried to forget what made him sad. He nearly stopped being the Doctor. But he didn't. And then he remembered who he was again."

Jenny looked at Clara oddly, making her feel shivery despite the warmth of the fire and the brandy tea glowing away in her stomach. Jenny and Vastra had looked oddly at her at their last meeting as well, like they knew a secret, like they were looking at a ghost, like the words of the Cyber-Planner, stark and terrifying — " _Clara is going to die._ "

"If he is reticent about his past with you," said Jenny, "be patient. He likes you. Vastra and Strax and I have known him for years, and I never knew that he had a grandchild until today."

"She's dead, isn't she," Clara said bluntly. "His family is dead. His friends are dead. He's nearly dead."

"He is not nearly dead," Jenny said, "and his friends and his family are here in this house, right now."

A cough at the parlour door interrupted their conversation. Strax stood there, dressed in a blood-spattered white apron.

"He wishes to see you," Strax said.

Clara bit her lip and stood up. As she pushed past Strax into the corridor, she realized that the pained sounds from the surgery had ceased entirely. For some reason, she didn't find that reassuring at all.


	5. You brought this on yourselves!

The surgery and the patient were remarkably tidy compared to Strax's apron. There was one stainless steel bucket filled with gory chunks of mangled flesh and machine parts. There was one bright tray holding blood-stained medical instruments. But, on the whole, the room was not the house of horrors Clara had been bracing herself for.

The Doctor lay on the wooden table, his arms and legs still securely fastened down. His shirt and jacket had been removed (cut off, if the shreds on the floor were anything to go by). His body and the surrounding table were free of gore.

The parts weren't completely gone.

They were mostly gone. The majority of the scorched metal had been removed from the Doctor's face, and with it gone the burns underneath were revealed to be more superficial than they had at first appeared. Or maybe the Doctor was an alien and that meant that he healed really fast. Either way, all that was left on his face were a few red streaks and a scattering of blinking blue and silver lights. They looked like jewellery.

The new growth on his body had been partially dug out, but most of it was still in situ.

The Doctor's eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell regularly, but Clara didn't think he was asleep. Something about his breathing seemed too deliberate.

Vastra stood by his side, the diagnostics pad in hand. She acknowledged Clara's entrance with a nod, following Clara's gaze to the scattered scraps of fabric on the floor.

"He gathered enough strength, even in his pain, to scold us for cutting his clothing," Vastra said.

"What's wrong?" Clara asked. She wanted to get to the point, no nonsense, no trying to make it softer, no forcing her to imagine the Doctor being so ridiculously vain; as if that made everything alright. The parts were still attached. She was being called back after being sent away. The Doctor was being quiet. There had to be reasons and none of the ones Clara was coming up with looked good.

"There have been… complications," said Vastra.

"Like what?" Clara asked.

"He wanted to see you," Vastra said. Clara thought she sounded nervous.

"What are the complications?" she demanded.

No one would answer her. Clara's mind spun to the logical conclusion. She raced to the Doctor's side and took his hand. His bow tie was gone along with the rest of his clothes and his hair had been partially shaved on the left side leaving a funny shaped bald patch over his ear.

"Clara?"

The voice was raspy, but not a cruel, intentional harshness like the Cyber-Planner. This was the voice of a man who had screamed until his vocal cords no longer worked properly.

"Do you have a lozenge?" he asked.

Clara didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She patted her pockets frantically.

"I… um… Tic Tac?"

She placed a few of the little orange mints in the Doctor's mouth. He made a 'these are utterly revolting' kind of face, but he didn't spit them out. Clara waited until he'd finished with the candy before asking him;

"What's wrong?"

"Mmm… well, I've got a terrible itch on the tip of my nose… and a mad Cyber-Planner who's realized that torturing me isn't an effective means to his goals. Stalemate. Again."

"But you're going to win, right?" said Clara.

"No. Stalemate is a draw, Clara, an impasse, unless one of the players resigns. The Cyber-Planner has issued his ultimatum. I can resign, and go back into my cage. Or I can continue fighting, and he will kill us both."

"But…" Clara said. But what? What could she say? What could she do? Half a day ago, everything had been _fine_ , and then they'd gone off to Hedgewick's World of Wonders to keep the kids quiet and _she had wanted to leave_. She'd begged him to leave, and he'd insisted on staying, on getting into trouble. This was all his fault. He'd put Angie and Artie into danger.

But then he'd saved them again.

"Mr. Clever has decided that I'm too dangerous to continue living unconverted. If he can't have me, then he will destroy me to assure the safety of the Cyberian Empire."

"It is an honour," said Strax, "to die in battle."

Was that supposed to be a comfort? Clara wondered. And she wondered too, why they'd asked her back. Her opinion obviously wasn't important. The Doctor was going to do what he was going to do. Clara couldn't envision a universe in which he'd meekly go back into some kind of mental prison and surrender his life, his bitchy time ship, and the fate of the cosmos to the will of Mr. Clever.

Maybe she could offer herself instead? Tell the Cyber-Planner to colonize her mind instead, to make her the eternal prisoner, to let the Doctor live.

Except… Clara didn't think she could sacrifice herself like that. She'd only known the Doctor for a few weeks. _He'd do it_. He was doing it. But she wasn't a superhero alien from the future. And, even if she were brave enough, how likely was it that the Cyber-Planner would keep his side of the bargain? Mr. Clever would probably burn out what remained of the Doctor before slipping into Clara. And would the Doctor want that anyway?

Even if Mr. Clever did let him go, seeing the Cyber-Planner take over Clara would destroy the Doctor. Clara was certain. As Vastra had said, he was _a damaged man_. He'd nearly lost himself before. How easy would it be for him to lose himself again?

"I'm sorry," said Jenny.

When had the maid crept up behind her like that? Why were they all gathered around, looking at Clara with so much pity. They knew the Doctor far better than she did, better than she ever would. Why were they acting like this was her special loss?

It was like when her Mum got sick, and everyone concentrated on her, poor little Clara, motherless and alone. Everyone ignored her Dad. Then he went a bit mad after and everyone drifted away. Then she really was alone. Nothing left but Clara in the darkness, clutching a leaf and stubbornly refusing to let go of her dreams, or to let Angie and Artie be abandoned, or —

"I'm a selfish old man," said the Doctor, "I knew it would hurt you, but I wanted to say goodbye. Clara, Clara Oswald, you are so, so… you're _beautiful_. Who are you Clara?"

"I'm just me," Clara said.

The tear that rolled down her cheek let go and landed on his bare chest. _If this were a fairy tale_ … Clara thought. She refused to finish that thought.

"All ordinary then…" said the Doctor, his voice fading so that Clara had to lean close over his barely moving lips to hear. "Most important thing in the universe… Good luck, meeting you… for saving me…"

The Doctor's eyelids fluttered closed, and Clara had a moment, the barest of moments to take stock and try to grieve and to wonder how she was going to get home or if she would be trapped in Victorian London for the rest of her life. _Maybe this was how the picture the kids had found came into being._ She wasn't wearing Victorian clothing and no one had taken a picture of her, but if she were stuck here forever, if this would be the rest of her life…

She couldn't care about that right now. It seemed utterly insignificant. The Doctor was dying. His whole body shuddered on the table. Then his eyes shot open, but they were emotionless grey chips of ice.

"He's lying," said Mr. Clever. "He doesn't care a whit about you. He thinks that this is noble. His code of morality tells him that death is the honourable choice."

"Death is always the honourable choice," said Strax.

"For a brain-dead Sontaran, perhaps," snapped Mr. Clever, "but for a Time Lord? No, he wants to live. He's screaming in here, bargaining, trying to pull last minute tricks out of his non-existent sleeve. You should hear him shouting, _It's not fair! It's not fair!_ like a little boy who got a smaller portion of pudding. Pathetic."

Clara felt a deep and startling rage that Mr. Clever would be so crass, that he would steal this last moment of dignity from the Doctor.

"It isn't fair," she told the Cyber-Planner. "Death is never, ever fair."

"You would know a lot about that, wouldn't you, Clara," said Mr. Clever, "the unfairness of death. Haven't you wondered why he's never offered to turn back the clocks for you, to _bring her back_."

"I know enough about time travel to know it can't be done."

"Do you? Do you know anything about time travel? I'm in here learning everything there is to know about time travel and he could save her, Clara. He could. He's done it for others. So why doesn't he do it for you?"

"Stop talking," said Clara.

"I could save her," said the Cyber-Planner. "I could give her life everlasting. I could sooth your father's mind. I could give you back your family."

Clara pressed her hands against her ears. "Stop talking."

"And no one would have to die. Not you, not your mother, not even the Doctor."

Mr. Clever smiled.

"Untie me, Clara. You know it is the right thing to do."

Clara's fingers lingered over the rope. She looked at Jenny and Vastra and Strax, wondering why they were silent now, why they weren't telling the Cyber-Planner to shut it. They couldn't possibly be considering…

"It is your choice," said Vastra. "If I had the choice, to save my nest-sisters in this manner… I cannot tell you what to do."

Her choice.

"Do they really care about what you think?" said Mr. Clever, "Or are they such cowards that they can't give the command themselves? Are they —"

"Enough!" Clara said, shouted. "Enough," she said more softly. "I think that you're more attached to life than the Doctor is. I think that you're the one who's afraid to die."

"Fear is illogical."

"Is it?" Clara asked. "Strax, remove the rest of the parts."

Strax nodded briskly and picked up a knife from the bloody tray of surgical instruments.

"You will not watch him die," said Mr. Clever. "You are his friends!"

"Exactly," said Clara. "We are his friends, and we know that he wouldn't want to put the universe in danger, or live the rest of his life as a puppet. Goodbye, Mr. Clever."

"You brought this on yourselves!" the Cyber-Planner shrieked as Strax approached. Blue electricity shot out of the remnant parts on the Doctor's chest. The Doctor's back arched until only his heels and the back of his head and neck were touching the table. He screamed. He screamed worse than he had before.

"Watch him die!" Mr. Clever shouted. "This is your doing. You will be known forever, throughout time, as the ones who killed the Doctor!"

It went on for a long time.

Then, after, everything was still. The Cyber-parts dropped off, and all that was left was a pale, limp body tied to a table.  



	6. I suspect that I will suceed, and you will afford me much respect

"It's so big!" Artie said in absolute, unashamed astonishment. He spread his arms and twirled circles through the console room. The Doctor grinned at him. He was so smug, showing off his ship. It was adorable.

"This is only the front room," said the Doctor. "The TARDIS is infinitely large."

"Does it have a swimming pool?" Artie asked.

"Three, at last count."

"Angie! Clara's boyfriend has _three_ swimming pools!"

Angie was far more reserved in her reaction. Clara had to stifle a giggle at how she tried to play it cool even as her eyes bugged out.

"It's okay. It's better than I thought from the outside. Why does it look like that anyway?"

"It's a disguise," the Doctor said, lowering his voice dramatically, like he was divesting one of the greatest secrets of the universe. It looked like sarcasm, but Clara had the feeling that he was being utterly sincere.

"It's a pretty rubbish one," said Angie.

"It fooled you," muttered the Doctor.

Angie didn't reply. Instead, she pretended to be very interested in the console. She ran her fingers along the switches and buttons. "What do all these do?"

"Press the right ones, and you'll be able to go anywhere in the universe. Any time. Every planet." The Doctor swatted Angie away from an ominous-looking big red button. "Press the wrong one, and the TARDIS dimensions will invert and you'll be turned inside out and run backwards down your personal timeline before being jettisoned out the airlock. So no fiddling."

"Touché," said Angie.

"Where are we going?" asked Artie.

"Where do you want to go?" the Doctor asked.

"Disneyland," Artie said with absolute certainty.

Angie laughed at him. "All of time and space, and you pick Disneyland?"

"What's wrong with Disneyland?" asked Clara. She looked at the Doctor, trying to persuade him that Disneyland was a good, safe, exciting choice, perfect for entertaining annoying, blackmailing children.

"Nothing's wrong with Disneyland," said the Doctor, flipping a few switches. The TARDIS jerked to the side, sending them all stumbling to catch their balance. The Doctor had a manic grin. So did Artie. "I love Disneyland. Rides, arcades, people in costumes… though, last time I went there, all the people in costumes weren't so much people as alien invaders intent on…"

Clara groaned.

"But," the Doctor amended, cutting her off, "with all of time and space at our disposal, I think that we can manage better than Disneyland."

The TARDIS spun to the side again.

"Where are we going?" Artie asked.

"The future!" the Doctor said. He was so enthusiastic. Even Angie smiled.

*

And now, all of that enthusiasm was gone forever. Clara was convinced that Life had special rules where she was concerned: If she loved someone, they would be lost. If she worked hard for something, it would become unobtainable. The pattern was plain, and yet, it still surprised her every time the bottom suddenly dropped out.

"He is dead," said Vastra, reading the diagnostics pad. "All of the Cybertech has withdrawn. No vital signs. No active processing nodes."

Strax used the knife he'd threaten Mr. Clever with to slice through the Doctor's bonds. He checked the Doctor's wrist for a pulse.

"Dead," he confirmed.

Clara felt dizzy. Detached. This was déjà vu. This was not happening. This was a dream.

"Revive him, Strax," said Vastra. "Quickly, before the regeneration energies quicken."

"Do not rush me!" Strax said. He waddled to one of the cabinets and pulled out a pair of metal discs and a remote. "I have never performed this operation on a dual-hearted casualty before. I suspect that I will succeed, and you will afford me much respect."

"Get on with it, Strax," said Vastra.

Clara blinked. Her vision had gone a bit wobbly with crying. The Sontaran was attaching the metal discs to the Doctor's chest. Strax made a few careful adjustments to the discs before nodding firmly.

"Everyone, stand well back," Strax said. He pushed a button on the remote. The body of the Doctor convulsed on the table.

Vastra's eyes were glued to the diagnostics pad. "Again, Strax!"

Again, the Doctor's back lifted off the table, his muscles twitching and quivering. They were trying to bring him back, Clara realized. She found herself hoping. Maybe this time, maybe this time things would be okay… Maybe…

"Again!" said Vastra.

"There is only one charge left," warned the Sontaran.

"Use it," said Jenny.

Strax nodded. He pushed the button for the last time. The Doctor's body twitched on the table, then lay still. Clara watched him for movement, for breathing, for any sign that her _maybes_ weren't in vain.

Nothing.

Strax detached the discs and dropped them into the steel bucket with the removed Cyber-parts. Clara heard them clink against the scrap. No one spoke.

Clara swallowed over and over, trying to choke down the urge to fling herself at the body and shake the Doctor back to life. She could've given herself to the Cyber-Planner. She could've. She could've… She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she thought about it hard enough, she could go back in time and do better.

She could.

"Never, ever, _ever_ do that again."

Clara's eyes snapped open. The Doctor was attempting to pull himself into a sitting position. He clung to the side of the table with one hand and rubbed at his sore chest with the other. The burns on his face had faded to thin pink lines and with his hair flopped over to the side to cover the bald patch he looked, aside from being shirtless, almost normal.

"Doctor!" Clara shouted, diving into him with a desperate hug. He nearly fell off the table from the impact, but somehow he managed to return the embrace, burying his chin in her hair and rocking her back and forth.

"Oh Clara…" he said. He glared at Vastra and Strax over her head. "You planned this."

"When it became obvious that the Cyber-Planner would not give up its hold on you, we had to develop alternative strategies," Vastra said. "I will admit that we encouraged the entity in its thinking, reminding it that you were a dangerous enemy of the Cyberian Empire who would provide a chronic risk if not overtaken or destroyed."

"Yes, I'd noticed that thread of the conversation as you and Strax were treating me," the Doctor said. He glared at the diagnostics pad Vastra was holding. "To be honest, I was more concerned that you were both spending more time _texting_ than performing surgery."

"We needed a way to communicate covertly," Vastra said dismissively. "The main difficulty was making you believe that you would die permanently. The Cyber-races I have encountered all require living hosts. Those hosts may be injured or dormant, but they must live. To trick the Cyber-Planner alone would have been easy, but he had access to your mind, and so we had to fool you. I apologize, Clara, for your unknowing part in our duplicity."

 _You could've told me_ , Clara thought, but of course, they couldn't have. That was the point.

"He's alive," she said, what else mattered?

"Clara…" the Doctor said.

"Yes?"

"You're smothering me."

Clara released the Doctor from her hug. He swayed a bit, but managed to swing his legs over the side of the table.

"That was an adventure and a half, but Clara will be wanting to be getting back home to look after the children." He jumped to his feet, ignoring the open mouths and unspoken protests of everyone in the room. He got less than two steps before he staggered and had to grab the table edge to stay upright.

"Um, no," said Clara, ducking under the Doctor's free arm to help him balance. "In the past hour and a half you've been drugged, undergone major surgery, died, and had a psychotic cyborg rooting around in your brain. No offence, but not exactly what I look for in a pilot."

"I suggest a vigorous course of exercise to revive the body," said Strax, "Boxing, swimming, wrestling…"

"How about sitting very still in the parlour?" Clara asked.

The Sontaran nodded his assent. "In that case, I suggest tea."

"Just tea," Clara confirmed. She was beginning to wonder if her persistent dizziness had as much to do with the brandy in the parlour as it did with the stress.

"I will prepare five cups of plain tea," Strax said, leaving the room. Clara wondered if he'd prepare it while still wearing the blood-spattered surgical apron. She decided that it was better not to think about it.

Jenny was bustling around the room wiping things down, gathering up the scraps of the Doctor's clothing, and clearing away the detached Cyber-parts.

"We've got some spare clothing in the hall closet," Jenny said as she worked, "I don't think any of Strax's will fit you, but there's a very nice jacket Vastra uses sometimes when she…"

"Jenny," the Doctor said, sharply, "don't move."

Jenny looked down. Her eyes widened in terror. Skittering along the floor towards her was a small phalanx of Cybermites. Her attack and possession seemed inevitable.

Vastra was there in an instant, stepping on the tiny metal monstrosities with her sharp heeled boots.

"I warned you, that I would cut you out and grind you to dust." She stomped down viciously, the metal casings popping and crackling under her feet. When she was done, there was nothing left. The Doctor opened his mouth as if to say one thing, but then seemed to reconsider.

"Time for tea?" he asked.

"Time for tea," Clara confirmed. As they helped the Doctor limp to the parlour she joked, "Who knows, if we stay long enough I might even bake a soufflé."  



End file.
